Long Lankin: Stories by John Banville Read Free Book Online

the sea. The sun glittered on the water blue as ice. Far out on the sound a flock of gulls was attacking something that floated there, they fell and turned and lifted with the light on their wings, bright birds. Two sails of yachts lay slanted into the wind.
    —You will need someone to be there when you wake up, Helen said. You will need someone for that.
    —I don’t know. Is it cold out today?
    —It’s a nice day.
    —I’ll go for a walk. Yes. A walk. My bags are packed.
    —Yes. Julie.
    —What?
    —Will you be coming back to the flat?
    —Maybe I’ll go away.
    There was a pause, and once again Julie spread her hands before her and looked at them absently. She said:
    —A degree would be useless to me.
    —You were a good pupil, Helen murmured. We got along well.
    —It was because you were young. It made a difference to have a young professor.
    —But I got through to you.
    —Yes.
    —I felt that I was getting through to you.
    —Yes.
    —I’m glad you think that.
    —Perhaps I’ll go away, Julie said again.
    Into the silence between them the small sounds of the sea filtered slowly, the sea which had whispered and sighed through the long nights of the summer. Helen pressed her palms against the glass.
    —I’m going for a walk now, Julie said.
    Outside, the air struck her like a blade. She walked along the verandah, her sandals knocking on the loose planks, then crossed the tiny garden to the beach. The sand was pockmarked from the night’s rain, and near the waves the prints of gulls pointed outward across the sound. A clear, chill wind blew from the islands, carrying against her face the faint perfumes of heather and pine. She looked back to the cottage, at the figure in the dimness of the window watching her, and as she turned a movement on the rocks at the end of the beach caught her eye. A figure, black against the sun, was coming toward her. In the sky above her head a bird screamed, and its shadow brushed her shoulder. The window was empty now. She felt the black claw of terror at her throat, and she turned and ran back across the garden.
    The screen door was locked, and she shook it frantically.
    —Helen. Helen.
    The door opened, and as she stepped quickly inside Helen looked at her with mild curiosity.
    —What is it, Julie?
    —Nothing. I … nothing.
    She went into the living-room, and Helen followed, watching her. She sat on the couch and squeezed her hands between her knees. Helen stood above her and put a gentle hand on her hair.
    —What’s wrong, Julie?
    —I don’t know. Something … strange. I saw someone.
    —Who did you see?
    —Someone. I don’t know.
    She began to tremble. Helen looked up to the window and slowly smiled.
    —Look, Julie. There’s who you saw. Look.
    Julie turned. Beyond the glass glaring with light someone was moving, a hand was raised, signalling.
    —Don’t let it in, she breathed, her fingers tearing at each other. Lock the door, Helen.
    But Helen was gone. Julie looked away from the window and held her face in her hands. After what seemed a long time she lifted her head, hearing sounds about her.
    —Julie. Julie. We have a visitor, Julie, look.
    Helen was there before her, smiling, and beside her a stranger.
    —Who are you? Julie asked in a small, dead voice.
    He was young, not more than eighteen or nineteen, a tall, heavily built boy with a shock of red hair flowing up and away from his forehead. He wore a blue shirt open at the neck, and faded denims. With his hands on his hips he stood and watched her, his wide, handsome face composed and expressionless. He asked:
    —Why were you frightened of me, Julie?
    She looked from one of them to the other, searching their faces.
    —What do you want here? she asked.
    —I came to say goodbye to you, he said. You’re going away and I came to say goodbye.
    She shook her head and looked appealingly at Helen.
    —What does he want, Helen?
    —He came to say goodbye to us.
    —But I don’t know him, she wailed.
    The